


Charity

by Spinning Place (buttercups3)



Series: Time Will Tell [2]
Category: Weekend (2011)
Genre: Barebacking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/Spinning%20Place
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two years in America, Glen is moving back to the UK, and the first place he stops is Russell's building. Talk, love, and sex ensue... the usual. A two-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series, Time Will Tell, exploring whether the boys can move forward toward a lasting relationship.

Russell plops down on his new couch sweating prodigiously, while his fingers fly over the keys of his cellphone from pure muscle memory. It’s bleeding hot out here, and he must look a sight reclined like he’s in his living room when really he’s on the sidewalk outside his building. Some nice bloke from the charity shop gave him and his furniture a lift home, but he was too embarrassed to ask the man for help upstairs to his flat. (Why exactly, he couldn’t say. Was it that he was afraid the man would read him as gay and think he was coming on to him? Utterly stupid. But Russell lives in fear of such things.)

Russell’s cherished brown, flowered sofa finally burst a spring and now rests peacefully in a landfill. Pathetically, he misses it something fierce. But it contains some of his most prized memories; just looking at it made him feel home. Well, he supposes he’ll get there with this new one in time. It’s a rather lovely shade of sapphire that reminds him of the Irish Sea, which he’s only seen once.

“Hey, Jamie,” Russell mumbles into the phone. “You busy? I need help moving a sofa.”

Jamie’s agreeable as always, though he’s clearly in the midst of a busy Saturday afternoon, or evening, rather. It’s already nearly five o’clock. Russell hangs up, wrinkling his nose at the odor of his own sharp sweat and lingering chlorine that never quite goes away. A man he’s been seeing off and on, Colin, is supposed to come over at six thirty, and though Russell bathed earlier, now it seems for naught. He hadn’t intended to get a new couch today, except that on a walk he saw it in the window of the charity shop. It was perfect, and he had to have it.

Russell is pondering all this when he senses someone hovering above. He knows before he even looks up that it’s _him_ : Glen. It might be the faint, familiar cologne, but Russell’s convinced it’s simply pheromones. Suddenly short of breath, he wants to drink in every drop of oxygen surrounding the irresistible little man. He gazes up at the lively, hazel eyes, the hawk-like nose, the expression some might take for severe, but Russell knows is just interest. Fuck, if his cock doesn’t twitch at their nearness. Glen never ceases to get to him somewhere deep and private.

Glen looks effortlessly cool in a pale yellow t-shirt and dark rolled jeans. Tongue-tied, Russell is relieved when Glen speaks first.

“So you’ve moved your vantage point since last we’ve met. No more hanging out your window watching the world go by; now, you sit right here on the side of the street. I suppose it’s a step toward more involvement with humankind. And the couch is a nice touch. Mind if I join you?”

Russell feels rather foolish, but he does laugh and rubs his eyes with his finger, puzzling over how to respond.

The last time they saw each other was seven months ago when Glen came home at the holidays to visit his parents. Glen had caught Russell in the middle of a rather unpleasant hookup in the Propaganda toilets. (That’s a bit of an understatement. Glen overheard the man reaming Russell so painfully hard that Russell actually bled into his briefs afterward. The mere thought of it makes him blush with shame.) Awkward as it was, they had reconnected afterwards, physically and emotionally. Russell had been terribly crushed when Glen left that second time—had, in fact, fallen into a dark depression. They’ve scarcely spoken by mutual choice, it seems. Russell’s been genuinely trying to move on, hence Colin. Colin’s not exactly the love of Russell’s life, but he’s good to Russell, sweet and gentle.

Glen hadn’t warned Russell in advance the last time he showed back up in his life, nor had he this time. He appears, instead, bent on ambushing Russell’s wretchedly fragile feelings.

“You’re home for another visit then?” Russell blinks, rising from the couch, more aware than ever of his own pungency.

“No. I’m home for good.” Glen’s eyes dart over Russell’s face, seeking his reaction, so Russell tries (and almost surely fails) to remain stolid. Glen clarifies, “In the UK, that is. I’m moving to London. Joining an art collective. I’m an official cunt now.” One corner of Glen’s mouth turns up in self-mocking amusement.

Russell attempts to process this. Glen back in England. His stomach flip-flops, and for a moment, he’s dizzy and has to literally brace himself on the arm of the couch. Glen’s eyes devour that too, while more sweat soaks Russell’s underarms.

“Um, that’s great. An art… what is it?” Russell scarcely knows what his mouth is doing. His brain is throbbing, and he’s trying desperately not to be exactly where they started over two years ago on that weekend… _their_ weekend.

“Collective: a group of artists displaying our own work in a gallery. We’ve some good contacts… actually hoping to make a living at it.”

“That’s… yeah, I’m really happy for you.” Russell sounds disingenuous, but he’s not. He’s absolutely happy for Glen. He finds Glen’s mind and art fascinating. Nothing would please him more than to hear that Glen is doing what he always dreamed of. Russell’s just so damn flustered.

Glen smiles like he sees right through Russell’s act. “Need help bringing that up?”

Russell exhales heavily. “I do actually. Jamie’s on his way…”

To Russell’s surprise, Glen bends down to lift up one end, and Russell is left with no other choice but to do the same with the other. The two men heave the couch all the way to the ground floor lift, which, of all things, is broken.

“Well, shit,” Russell curses. Just his luck.

The boys hold a long gaze, as sweat trickles down their temples, until Glen breaks out into a barking, high-pitched laugh.

“I missed you enough to haul this couch across the pavement but not enough to carry it up fourteen flights.” Glen shrugs, wipes his brow on his forearm, and begins to light a cigarette.

 _He missed me_ , Russell’s brain reiterates, while his heart pounds. Before he can say something stupid in response, faithful Jamie strides up.

“Hiya.” He takes in Russell, the couch, and finally Glen. “Don’t tell me the lift’s broken.”

“Okay. I won’t tell you. But you’re still helping me carry it up the stairs,” says Russell to his oldest friend.

“Bloody hell.” Jamie sticks out his hand to Glen, who shifts his cigarette to his left hand before receiving it.

Glen speaks first: “Jamie, I presume? Glen. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Jamie shakes Glen’s hand enthusiastically, obviously restraining himself from looking over at Russell. Jamie knows the turmoil Russell has suffered over this man. It’s really only been the past two months or so that Jamie hasn’t been terribly concerned for his friend’s mental health. Russell looked so hollow for so long he might as well have been grieving a death.

“Ah. Nice to meet you, mate,” is all Jamie says with a friendly smile.

For a moment Glen gives Jamie such a penetrating look that Russell’s ears turn bright red. He feels like Glen’s seeing all the way through to the pathetic, straight-boy crush Russell had on Jamie as a teenager (or more accurately all the way into his early twenties).

Then, puffing and stumbling, Russell and Jamie lug up the couch to the fourteenth floor. Glen has gone up ahead and put on a teakettle for them, which announces itself with a comforting shriek as Russell finally bumps his way into his living room.

Once they’ve settled the sofa, Jamie lies prostrate on the floor beside it and groans. “I hate you, Russell, and your stupid couch.”

Russell flops on the couch and whimpers. “Well, then you can just sit on the floor for the rest of your days.”

“Tea?” Glen stands over them both and smiles, extending steaming mugs. He adds for Jamie’s benefit, “Russell informs me you take cream with your twenty sugars.”

“Oh no,” Jamie assures him with a small grin. “The wife’s made me cut back to a mere nineteen. Thanks though.”

Jamie and Glen share another extended glance, and for a moment, Russell almost worries that they’ll spar; however, he’s too exhausted to break the silence. He does sit up to retrieve his tea from amongst Glen’s elegant fingers with a grateful nod.

“Back for another visit then, Glen?” Jamie finally asks, drawing himself into a sit against Russell’s legs and sipping his tea.

“Actually, I’m moving to London. Just stopped in to get some things in order.”

Jamie nods, “I see.” Then abruptly he stands and sets his mug down on the table, stretching his arms skyward. “Just bear in mind, Russell is not a thing.” He says it not as a confrontation exactly but with evident concern.

Russell flushes deep red, but he can’t be angry with his best friend. Jamie loves him and would defend him to the death. For many years, they were the other’s entire family.

Jamie adds, moving toward the door, “I’ve got to go. I really am late.” He gives Russell’s curls a pat as he exits. “Don’t get up, mate.”

“I…” Russell’s mouth hangs open, and he scarcely manages to call out, “Thanks, mate!” before the front door clicks shut. He turns to Glen, who settles down on the sofa next to him. “Sorry… I don’t know why he said that.”

Glen folds his legs under himself and slurps his own tea. “Don’t you? He cares about you. He’s worried that I’m here to hurt you. And frankly, I am too.”

Russell plunks down his tea beside Jamie’s abandoned mug and hesitates for a moment before giving into his indulgent side. Kicking a long leg over Glen’s lap (close enough to Glen’s crotch for a satisfying squish of cock), he nestles down into the couch. With a hearty sigh, he says, “Look Glen, I’m exhausted and sweaty and… I dunno. You came to my building. You must have had a reason. I doubt it was to be intentionally cruel. You’ve always been generous to me and honest, I think. So why are you here?”

Glen sets aside his own tea and lays his hand on Russell’s shin, playing with a loose thread. “We haven’t talked in so long. You seemed unhappy in your last email to me, and I hate to think of you unhappy.”

Russell rubs his nose with his knuckle. “I _was_ unhappy. But I’m fine now.”

Glen smiles and slides his fingers up Russell’s trouser leg to stroke the hairs beneath. “Fine. Yes, you’re always fine, aren’t you?”

“No,” Russell corrects with a touch of irritation. “I wasn’t fine for a while, but now I am.”

“Do you wish I hadn’t shown up today?”

“No… I never wish that. I always want to see you.”

Glen smiles down at Russell’s long limb and continues after a spell, “I suppose this isn’t the time to admit that I miss the old couch?”

“Miss it or not, it had to go. It had an enormous spring poking through the fabric straight into the arse of whoever dared to sit on it.”

Glen snickers. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to break in this one then.”

Blood rushes in Russell’s ears as he meets the intense brownish-green eyes.

“That is unless you don’t wa-” Glen adds patiently.

“No, I _want_.” Russell is hyper aware of his chest rising and falling and of his dick stiffening.

To hell with it. Russell isn’t very good at depriving himself of what he wants—not at home anyway. He pulls Glen over so that the smaller man is lying on top of him. Their lips meet ravenously, tongues finding each other, no longer lost. Glen grinds deliciously into Russell’s instant erection and sets him panting. As usual, Glen’s fingers migrate to Russell’s armpit, and Russell clenches it shut.

“Oi! Sweaty!”

“Oh Russell, haven’t you realized by now that I like your sweat? Love it in fact. Now take off your shirt so I can lick every centimeter of you I’ve been missing.”

His cock twitching against the heavy layer of fabric between them, Russell’s no longer in control of his desire. They tear at each other’s shirts, while Glen licks Russell’s pits to his heart’s content. Meanwhile, Russell finds a way to divest them of their pants and knickers.

When Russell finally liberates Glen’s silky, warm erection in his long fingers, he’s so grateful he stops kissing just to feel it. God, he loves its weight, the way that pearl of moisture oozes onto his fingertips. Glen snogs Russell’s neck voraciously until Russell feels Glen's cock shudder, and Glen reaches down to stay his hand.

“How do you want to have sex? Touch me any longer like that, and I’m going to come,” Glen pants against Russell’s swollen lips.

In fact, Russell knows exactly what he wants. There’s a part of him that has privately known that if he ever had the chance to have sex with Glen again, he wanted to feel everything—Glen’s skin and come inside him. The possible consequences of anal always make Russell nervous, but he trusts Glen, wants him so terribly he almost can’t form the words.

“I want you to fuck me…” Russell is shocked to hear how hoarse and needy he sounds, but Glen only smiles reassuringly and tenderly traces his lips with a finger.

“You want me to fetch the lube and a condom?” Now Glen ghosts the backs of his fingers across Russell’s cheek.

“Yeah, I-” Russell catches Glen’s hand, as Glen stands and kicks aside the pile of clothes they’ve discarded. His beautiful, cut cock points to perfect north, and Russell momentarily forgets what he’s trying to say, his mind flicking to its normal places of concern before intercourse. Is he clean? Yes, he washed earlier. Can he relax? Yes, he wants this so much, he’s practically melting inside.

Glen smiles at Russell, who is absent-mindedly stroking his own cock as he thinks. “Yes?” Glen prompts.

Russell shifts his eyes back to Glen’s. “Can we… have you…?” he stumbles.

Glen inclines his head with curiosity. “Spit it out, love.”

“Perhaps _only_ get the lube?” Russell flinches. Sounds so stupid. Why can’t he just ask what he wants directly?

Glen rubs a finger underneath his nose, the corners of his lips still turned upward. “You want to bareback? Must say, I’m a bit surprised.”

Russell flushes. “We don’t… I understand if you don’t want to.”

“Of course I _want_ to. Are you clean?” Glen lifts an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Russell asserts quickly. In fact, he’s very paranoid about being checked for diseases and does so often. He’s not really sure how to phrase all that; it’s rather embarrassing.

“Well… I’m clean too,” Glen continues. “So, all right then. I’ll only get the lube. But might I ask… why this time?”

Russell pulls his naked legs in under his chin and bites his bottom lip. “I’ve never done it, and I want it with you before you disappear form my life again.”

Russell feels Glen stare at him a moment longer before vanishing into the bedroom. While he’s gone, Russell rearranges himself to lie on his back against the armrest, his t-shirt spread under his bum to protect the new (old) couch. He goes through his ritual, telling his body to loosen, letting his erection wane because intercourse is never about that for him. His pleasure lies in being stuffed with cock, his favorite feeling in the world, and never more so than when the cock in question belongs to Glen.

Glen glides back into the room, lithe and sexy, clutching a small plastic bottle.

Russell opens his legs a little wider and feels ready before Glen even settles between them to touch him. After just a few minutes of Glen soothing his entrance with kisses and slippery fingers, Russell grabs needily for Glen’s cock.

Glen quirks an eyebrow. “My, we are eager.”

In answer, Russell pulls Glen’s chin forward into his lips and licks into his warm mouth, moaning as he feels the soft skin of Glen’s tip cram up against his pucker. It still burns, but fuck, is it incredible to actually feel Glen dripping precum against him.

Glen soothes and shushes Russell as he pushes inside just his head. Kissing a line down Russell’s neck to the little dip in his clavicle, Glen slowly stretches open Russell with his hot, hard cock. Russell gasps rapturously and threads his fingers into Glen’s short hair, pulling at his scalp. The way Glen thrusts inside him from this angle feels more like a loving massage, and Russell’s muscles coil up gradually, deliciously achy.

“Oh fuck,” Russell whispers into Glen’s mouth, which has returned to cover his.

“Yeah,” Glen whispers.

There’s no doubt that it’s more intimate being skin to skin. It’s wetter too, and shit, Russell’s muscles are cramping, his pleasure building, peaking until he’s moaning and kissing desperately at Glen’s lips with a string of whispered _yeses_.

Glen rests his forehead briefly against Russell’s chin and says, “Fuck, I love feeling you come like that.”

When Glen resumes thrusting, Russell feels like he could actually come a second time. It’s entirely different riding the waves of pleasure from the inside. It’s not an explosive cock orgasm; it’s a gentle, budding wave of ecstasy. Sure enough, as Glen finds his edge and slams hard into Russell’s shuddering body, balls slapping eagerly against him, Russell finds another high, and they gasp and cry out into each other’s mouths.

And fuck, Russell can feel the slipperiness of Glen’s seed as he slides out. It feels so right, so perfect. How can this be the only time? Then Glen is outside of him again, the air cool on his bum, as Glen’s seed dribbles out, and Russell clenches down not wanting to lose all of him at once.

Glen tucks his head under Russell’s chin, as Russell holds him with strong arms.

Stroking Russell’s chest hair, Glen voice comes out gravelly and spent, “That was… _shit_. Why does fucking you have to be so good, Russell?”

Russell’s just about to say, _I don’t know but it is_ and _don’t leave me again_ , or some other desperate nonsense, when there’s an abrupt knock at the door. It startles Russell so much that he cracks his chin down on Glen’s head.

“Oww,” Glen objects rubbing it. “Jamie again or are you expecting someone else?”

Expecting someone… oh fucking hell: Colin. Russell must look white and dumbstruck, because Glen guesses the truth just from his face.

“Ohh, you’ve a guy coming over?” Glen clucks his tongue then cackles.

“Shh, he’ll hear you! Oh fuck me.” Russell is scrambling for his clothes when he stops dead. Glen’s seed is oozing out of him onto the couch. He groans and hides his face in shame.

Glen laughs even harder. “All right, Russell. I’ll get the door. You go to the loo and tend to yourself. Shall I let this poor bastard in?”

“Just… buy me a minute.”

Russell grabs his clothes and dashes for the toilet, trying to will his body to release the rest but nothing else comes out, so he dresses in a desperate rush. Finally he hurries out to see Glen leaning in the hallway, chatting pleasantly about the weather.

“Colin… I,” Russell begins before he’s even rounded the corner. Of course the rest of Glen’s come chooses now to resume dripping out directly into his trousers (as he’s forgone the briefs) and down his left leg. He’s pondering that instead of talking. Fuck.

“Well, I’m going to put on a pot of tea,” Glen excuses himself with a slight lift of the eyebrows at Russell.

“Colin, I’m so sorry,” Russell apologizes to the shorter man with the bright blue eyes and pale blonde hair. “A friend I hadn't seen in a long time just dropped in without warning-”

“Glen?”

“Yes, Glen, and I lost track of… God, I’m sorry!”

Colin eyes Russell for a long moment and then smiles faintly. “It’s okay, Russell. We never said we were exclusive. I understand.”

Russell thinks about objecting, but really, how can he? He just got bareback-fucked on his new couch by the man he’s in love with, and shit, Glen’s seed has migrated nearly down to his ankle. There’s nothing to do but be honest.

“You must think I’m a complete dick.” Russell pinches his nose.

“A little bit of a dick, yes. But I know you didn’t mean it. You’re not like that.”

Russell almost reaches out for the small shoulder, but that’s not right either. “I’m so, terribly sorry, Colin.”

“Don’t be,” Colin waves him off. “I’m used to being people’s second choices. I’ll go.” Colin leans forward and kisses Russell on the cheek before absconding out the front door.

Russell _thunks_ his head against the wall painfully hard. “Well, I’m a cunt,” he informs Glen, who peeks his head of out the kitchen. “I’ve got your come pooling in my trousers while being an ass to the only nice guy I've been out with in ages.”

Glen half smiles, but he looks quite weary. “I’m not actually in the mood for more tea, are you?”

Russell shakes his head.

Glen emerges fully now to stand before Russell with his hands in his pockets. “You _are_ a cunt, but it’s at least as much my fault, and I’m sorry for that.”

Russell tilts his head to take in the smart chin and bright, dark eyes. He groans again and slides down the wall till he’s sitting with his forehead against his knees. “No, it’s my fault. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing! I try… _so_ hard not to love you, but I just can’t help it.”

Russell looks up at Glen and practically tears up. He feels oddly hysterical.

“Russell, don’t…” Glen warns.

Don’t say the l-word. But why the fuck not? “And why not, Glen? You said before I’m a terrible liar. So I’m not telling you something you don’t already know. I understand you don’t reciprocate, but-”

“ _Can’t_ -”

“Whatever! But you keep coming back anyway and climbing into bed with me. You’re back home now for good-”

“London-”

“Right! Two hours away is nothing! So why can’t we give it a chance?”

“Because! You just said you want love, and I can’t give it back to you.”

“I didn’t say I _want_ love. I said I’m _in_ love.”

“But of course you want it back. I can’t be cruel to you Russell; you deserve better.”

“I _had_ Colin. I threw him away without even thinking about it for just a few hours with you.”

Abruptly Glen kneels on his haunches and presses his lips against Russell’s forehead. Without another word Glen pads out the front door and shuts it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Russell coils up in the fetal position right there on his hallway floor and lets the tears well up, hot and stinging. Nobody to see him; nobody to care. Pathetic? Yes. Russell specializes in pathetic.


	2. Chapter 2

Though eight o’clock at night might seem like a mad hour for a swim, Russell resolves to head to the pool. It’s closed, of course, but he has a key—all the senior lifeguards do—and it’s not unheard of for them to practice at night. Some of them still train pretty regularly for meets. Thomas Fry actually made it to Olympic trials two years ago.

Russell has got to stop his brain from gnawing itself to an ugly, raw wound, and his go-to solutions are: weed and exercise. Whereas his flat is usually a consoling, little nest, tonight it’s making him ill to even look at the emptiness Glen so recently inhabited.

On one shoulder, Russell hoists his bike and on the other, his gym bag. Clanking through his front door, he turns to lock it and does such a violent double take that his bike clatters to the hallway floor.

“Shit! Glen?”

Casually seated on the ground across from Russell’s front door is Glen, red hoodie pulled over his head, arms folded. It must be at least an hour and a half since Glen departed, and he hadn’t been wearing that jacket earlier. So he’s been to wherever he’s staying— _Jill’s?_ —and then back again. Russell runs his fingers through his lumpy curls, trying to process, mouth hanging open.

“I really don’t know why I keep doing this to us,” Glen sighs. “I wish I’d just leave you in peace, but when I’m home, I don’t want to be anywhere but here.” Glen’s discerning eyes sweep over Russell, no doubt taking in the black sweatpants, the grey hoodie, the gym bag. “Going somewhere?”

“Um…” Russell’s bottom lip trembles, and biting it, he wills himself to some dignity. Straightening his back, knuckles turning white on his bike, he replies, “Yeah, I’m heading to the pool for a swim.”

Glen’s eyebrow arches. “A swim? At this hour? Pool can’t be open.”

“It’s not, but I have special powers.”

“You command the waters,” Glen sweeps his arm with such unexpected elegance that Russell is momentarily mesmerized.

“I command the municipal pool… sort of.”

“Well, can I come along, then? I’m not much of a swimmer, but if you promise to wear form-fitting trunks I might be persuaded to get wet with you.”

Russell sighs, “You can if you like. I was going on my bike, but I s’pose we’d better take the bus.”

Dizzied by the abrupt turn of events, Russell feels excessively clumsy as he stows his bike, and they make their way to the bus stop. There’s a startlingly oppressive crowd aboard the bus, and Russell lets Glen have the only available seat. Bodies press him almost painfully into Glen’s bony knees, but Russell relishes their closeness—Glen’s aftershave, his warmth. Russell’s pocket buzzes: a text from Jamie.

_I get it now_.

Bewildered, Russell flushes and hopes Glen doesn’t notice. He can’t think of a thing to text back except:

_What?_

_He’s quite captivating._

Russell sways but doesn’t look up.

_Yeah. But he’ll run away again_ , Russell types back, pulse thundering.

_Maybe don’t let him? Dunno._

There’s a brief pause, and Russell thinks Jamie has been distracted by the little one or perhaps just completed his thought. But then comes:

_Make yourself happy. You deserve it, Russ._

Russell is quite sure the entire bus has seen the lump rise in his throat.

“Who’re you talking to?” Glen, evidently having watched the whole conversation, tries to peer over Russell’s phone, which he stuffs back in his pocket.

“Just Jamie.”

“He cross with me for coming round again?”

“Who, Jamie? Nah.”

Glen scoffs in disbelief.

The question that has been pressing at the back of Russell’s consciousness finally wells up without warning.

“So when do you leave for London- wait let me guess: _tomorrow_?” Russell’s attempted grin melts at the sincere look in Glen’s eyes. _So yes, tomorrow._ Russell feels himself flinch.

“You’re angry,” Glen observes. “Good, you should be. I want you to be.”

“No. I’m not angry,” Russell replies with deliberately diminishing decibels.

He’s not keen to have a discussion about their relationship—whatever it is—in this crowded public space. Russell thinks on Jamie’s texts. He thinks on how even now he’s acting the coward. He glares briefly at the rotund bloke next to him who bumps into his shoulder at every stop.

 “You should give us a chance,” Russell blurts not loudly exactly but audibly enough to garner a few looks. Russell squares his shoulders against his instantaneous embarrassment.

Glen’s eyebrows lift as if he is impressed. “Well… maybe I will.”

The man beside Russell grunts, “Faggots,” almost under his breath.

Russell fixes him with a prolonged icy reproach, and before he can stop himself, words tumble out. “Yeah, well you seem to be the one who can’t stop touching me.”

The man glows red as the bus screeches to a stop, and grumbling, he pushes aggressively past Russell out into the night.

“Thank fuck, he’s gone. Bumping up against us all,” a petite brunette informs Russell gratefully with a roll of her eyes, and they all shift to make use of the new space.

Glen flashes white teeth at Russell, and at the next stop, Russell leads the way out of the heat of bodies into the chilly night air.

Glen chatters, “I’m proud of you! The Russell I knew wouldn’t have stood up for himself like that.”

“Yeah, well maybe you don’t know me as well as you think. I’ve had to stand up for myself loads of times. Unlike you, I just don’t enjoy confrontation.”

Glen gazes carefully at Russell, but Russell avoids the hazel pierce of his eyes.

“Ah yes, I suppose you were a bit of a street urchin.” Glen squeezes Russell’s bicep and whispers, “Makes me feel safe, really.”

Russell urgently shakes him off. “Glen, this is a dodgy part of town at night. We’re a few blocks that way.”

Glen’s expression angles into something sharp as if Russell’s just undone his progress, but Russell hasn’t lived in a world where it’s safe to be gay on the streets. In the foster system, bumping around from house to house, it was imperative to avoid attracting attention to oneself as different. As much as Russell admires Glen’s world, he can’t quite admit that he might be free to join it.

When Russell unlocks the building Glen expels a whoop of excitement and darts around like a child unleashed in a toy store. Russell chuckles and ushers him toward the locker rooms.

“There are security cameras everywhere, and this is my place of employment, so don’t do anything daft.”

“Cameras _every_ where?”

“Well, not in the showers.”

“Hmm. Noted.”

With a shake of his head and a smile, Russell digs through his gym bag and holds up a pair of stretchy black, athletic trunks. “I think you’d better borrow these; the other pair’ll fall right off your skinny bum.”

Glen makes a disappointed grunt that he’s not to see the tighter pair on Russell, but he does as he’s told. As they both strip down, Russell can’t help but crane his neck for a glimpse of cock.

That only makes Glen grin and emit a high-pitched warning: “Only looking, no touching!”

Russell whines in mock seriousness, “It was a terrible idea to bring you here,” and pulls on his red, lifeguard trunks with a heavy sigh.

At the pool, Russell takes a running jump and dives gracefully in with scarcely a splash. He never feels quite so comfortable in his own skin as when he’s in the water. Liquid and lithe, he skirts the bottom of the pool for an inordinately long time before shattering the surface, imbibing the air his lungs desperately crave, and wiping his eyes to check on Glen. Glen is perched at the edge of the pool, kicking his feet in the water and taking in the swimmer with rapt admiration.

“Come on then. Water’s not too cold,” Russell urges.

“I don’t actually care for swimming. Not very good at it.”

Russell treads water in front of Glen. “I can teach you.” He pulls on one of Glen’s chilly feet underwater, and Glen kicks playfully kicks water in his face.

“Russell?”

“Hm?” Russell wants so badly to lay his cheek in Glen’s lap, but he’s on camera, so he merely strokes Glen’s foot underwater and out of sight.

“You ever been in a fight?” Glen asks abruptly.

“What? Why would you ask that?”

“Something about the way you were acting on the street earlier. Just interested.”

Russell finally stops kicking and grasps the edge of the pool, resting his chin on cold concrete. “I’ve… yes. There were a few times I was placed with families in dodgy parts of the city. Jamie and I learnt a bit of boxing over the years. I’m not proud of it, Glen. It’s not who I am.”

Glen rakes his fingers through Russell’s wet curls and smiles fondly. “It’s _part_ of who you are. Kind of hot and brave, really.”

Russell looks shyly down at the water. There’s absolutely nothing brave about him. Glen is the fearless one.

“You were on the swim team, yeah?”

Russell shifts his eyes back up to Glen’s eager hazels. “Yeah.”

“What was your event?”

“My best was 100 fly.”

“Oooh, sounds difficult.”

“It was, thank you.”

“And were you quite good?”

“I was all right at my peak.”

“Hot! Show me.”

“Show you? Well, all right, but behave. And hand me those goggles, will you?”

“Certainly.”

Russell pauses before stretching the plastic onto his head. “If I show you, then you’re getting in, at least for a little.”

“Fine, as long as you promise to save me when I drown. I demand mouth to mouth!”

“Of course I’ll save you, love. It is my job.”

“I don’t think I quite grasped the sexiness of life guarding until this moment.”

Russell shakes his head and fixing his goggles in place, dives under water, trailing along the bottom of the pool all the way to the shallow end. Then he bursts off, mermaid kicking and bringing his arms around with tremendous force. Christ, he hasn’t done a proper workout in a long while. He really is at home in the butterfly, though it’s an odd and awkward stroke for most people. When he hits the edge on the opposite side he glides down deep and completes the lap.

Bursting back above surface, pulse racing from exertion, he tears off his goggles to Glen’s clapping.

“That was lovely! And now I want you terribly,” Glen announces with equal parts jubilation and frustration.

Russell splashes over to Glen, trying to ignore the stirring in his trunks, and pulls Glen _nooo_ ing into the water. His lean, slippery body clings to Russell, legs coiling around his thighs, hands grasping desperately at his shoulders. There is no denying it now: Russell is fully hard and even panting a bit with desire. But they simply can’t do anything about that here.

“Goodness, you _are_ a dreadful swimmer!” Russell admits.

“Shut up. Don’t let go!”

“Here, lie on your back, and I’ll show you backstroke.”

“No, no! I can’t float! I’m like a great anchor!”

“Of course you can! You’re a wee thing!” Russell laughs, and helps Glen to stretch out, a bobbing plank of driftwood.

They spend the next fifteen minutes trying to get Glen to muster even a mildly passable backstroke, complete with giggling and copious underwater groping. Finally Russell concedes, “You’re impossible. I give up!”

“Good. To the showers then!”

The moment Russell turns his back in the grey-tiled communal showers to adjust the temperature knobs, he feels Glen’s naked form pressing into him from behind, the hardness of cock, the light fur of chest. Glen slides his fingers through the hair of Russell’s armpit while the other hand wanders down the waistband of his trunks.

“Glen, what if someone comes… or if they find out. This is my employer-”

“You said yourself no cameras in here. And who would come at this time of night?”

Russell groans as Glen squeezes his soft, sensitive flesh and blood plunges to his groin. With both hands pressed against the wall, Russell lets Glen work him up him indulgently, mind buzzing black. Russell’s not sure he could stop this even if he did hear footfall. He feels as though he’d accept any consequences if only Glen will make him come.

Russell shoves down his trunks and kicks them aside. _Mmmm_ , he gasps quietly, bucking into Glen’s long and deliciously rough-tipped fingers. _Fuck_ , he’s barely able to hold himself up when Glen starts fingering his hole.

It only takes one deep plunge of Glen’s finger coordinated with a particularly energetic yank for Russell to shiver and spurt against the wall. His knees are shaking, and Glen has to support him from behind. Glen soothes his come-sticky hand up Russell’s shaft one last time and then upward through the hair of his stomach, over his chest, to finally hug him hard from behind.

“Fuck,” Russell whispers. He turns around and kisses Glen ravenously, his fingers burrowing in the short hair. So desperate is he to feel Glen’s skin everywhere that he lifts up the slighter man, and when Glen wraps his legs around his waist in answer, Russell backs him into the tiled wall, to tongue-fuck, hard, needy. Glen’s erection drips against Russell’s stomach.

Glen gnaws on his earlobe and pants, “Have you any lube?”

“Yeah, in my bag.”

“Come prepared, do you?”

“Oh hush. It’s for the sauna.”

Glen chuckles and lowers his legs. They end up fucking with Russell bent over a dressing bench. It feels depraved, naughty, and yet Russell finds he doesn’t give a damn. Glen fucking him bare-skinned is still so new, so silky and wet, and he’s emotionally exhausted. With every slippery thrust, Glen’s lips pressed warm against his shoulder, Russell whimpers, completely out of control of his senses.

He must sound pitiful, because Glen pauses and whispers, “Am I hurting you, love?” to which Russell reaches back with a hand on Glen’s ass and shoves him in harder.

“No! Fuck… fuck me,” Russell babbles, and Glen pulses deeper inside him. Glen practically growls when he comes—so fucking sexy, Russell wishes he could see Glen’s pinched, ecstatic face. Then, Glen deflates on him, arms hanging limply, Russell’s body entirely melted around his cock.

It’s alarming, but Russell realizes he’d give up his job at the pool, give up his entire life in Nottingham to follow Glen to London if only Glen would have him. He’s almost teary when Glen finally pulls out.

* * *

It doesn’t take much to convince Glen to stay the night, and Russell is grateful, as he doesn’t think he could stand to sleep alone. Something about this day has made him feel stupidly like he’s lost his virginity all over again, and he’s vulnerable and tired and just wants to cuddle.

Russell pulls Glen on top of him—a comforting weight that is not enough to crush him but blots out any unpleasant thoughts.

“Fuck, you’re hot swimming, Russell,” Glen mumbles into the pillow.

“You’re hot always.”

Glen chuckles and after a pause mutters, “Fine. You can come visit me in London now and then. And I’ll visit you here.”

“What?” Russell is so startled he rolls off Glen to search his face. His dark eyes glitter in the moonlight. “Are you saying you’ll give us a go?”

Glen gazes at him intently. “I don’t think we should be exclusive. It’s too much pressure with too much distance between us. But yes. Let’s give us a go.”

Russell gasps and tries to temper his elation. “Good. Fucking excellent!” He pulls Glen’s lips into his with such force their teeth crack, and they both _ow_. “Sorry. I- I sound really pathetic, don’t I?”

“No, Russell. You sound honest.” Suddenly, Glen’s voice grows thicker and nervous. “I’m just…”

“I’m not as fragile as you think, Glen. I’d rather try and have my heart broken. I really would.”

Glen doesn’t respond but snuggles down under Russell’s chin. Russell holds him tightly and kisses his hair, still vaguely chlorinated.

“I’ll try really hard not to hurt you, too,” Russell assures.

He feels Glen kiss his chest. “Night, love. Rest your bum because I’m going to have to fuck you again in the morning before I leave. I won’t take no for an answer.”

So tonight felt different for Glen too. Russell smiles into the dark.


End file.
